


Ignite Your Bones

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Older Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Goes After Derek, Stiles finds Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn't battle-hardened.  He was <i>broken</i>.  And like all broken things, he only had two options: be thrown away or be put back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignite Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leela_cat (Leela)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/gifts).



> For Leela. I love you more dearly than you know. Happy (late) birthday, bb.

For all that Stiles had enjoyed calling Derek's betas puppies, in actuality _he_ had been the one most resembling such a creature: all big, brown, expressive eyes, full cheeks, and a body he didn't seem to have read the instruction manual on. He'd been all long, twitchy fingers and spastic limbs with a mouth that rattled on without regard for concepts like thought or even safety.

Which was why seeing him now was such a shock to Derek's system.

If Stiles was excited or nervous or _surprised_ at seeing Derek after all these years, Derek couldn't tell. His scent was a blank, giving away nothing. His heartbeat was steady, less jagged than it had been as a teenager, either owing to the lack of medicinal smell or due to… Derek shied away from thoughts of _why._ He knew he didn't get to do that. Not after running away and leaving the mess of Beacon Hills to a bunch of frightened -- but so brave -- teenagers.

" _Derek,_ " Stiles had said with a simple little nod when Derek had stumbled to a halt upon entering the coffee shop all those minutes ago, no surprise in his tone to match the stomach churning shock Derek was feeling. Just a dip of his chin in bland acknowledgement after three years of silence. There was nothing in his tone or posture to help Derek navigate this situation.

Because the Stiles standing before him was _not_ a puppy. Those eyes that used to glow with happiness and roll with sarcasm were steady now, hard and dark. They took in everything without blinking. Those once-full cheeks were hollowed, not by starvation but by the realities of life. 

The inevitability of death.

"Stiles," Derek finally breathed, looking around to make sure he hadn't drawn any attention in the long moments he'd taken to stop and _stare_. "You…"

Stiles' lips curved up on one side in a crooked half-smile, and it was then that Derek saw the scar that cut cleanly across the right side of his mouth. He blinked at it, shocked.

For all that he'd seen Stiles bleed -- Peter, Gerard, the Kanima, the Alpha Pack, the Darach, the Nogitsune… Stiles' own clumsiness and tendency to use his Jeep like a battering ram in the most desperate of times all conspiring to bleed him dry -- the boy had always healed. Human slow, of course, but seeing that scar stalled Derek's breath, made the guilt that had been buried in the back of his mind flash bright.

"Don't." It wasn't hissed or shouted. It was one curt, spoken command that drew Derek up, gave him pause.

Swallowing heavily, he sat down in the other chair at the table Stiles was occupying. "Sorry," he said, dragging a hand along the back of his neck as he scanned the room again.

"We're safe here," Stiles said with a small shrug. Without moving his eyes from Derek's, he added, "The other customers are all human, though one barista is a wolf in a settled pack. The only person who can hear us besides the barista that's not wearing headphones is the businessman in the corner." Stiles blinked, slow and unconcerned. "He's too nervous about meeting his lover in a public place to pay attention to us. You can speak freely -- assuming you're on good terms with the local Alpha."

Stiles' eyes finally left Derek when he looked up, nodding his thanks to a nervous-looking barista that smelled like the local pack. She refilled Stiles' cup, then moved to do the same for Derek before realizing he had nothing in front of him. Flustered, she scurried back behind the counter.

Derek opened his mouth to ask how Stiles knew all that, about the other customers and the barista, but what came out instead was, "How did you find me?"

For the first time, Stiles smiled in a way that actually reached his eyes, the color lightening. "Derek, man…" Stiles finally lifted his hands above the edge of the table -- Derek didn't even realize he'd noticed they had stayed in his lap until they weren't anymore -- and reached across, edging the tips of his fingers against the side of Derek's clenched fist. "We never lost you."

Derek sat back, letting out a gust of breath through his nostrils. He thought about jerking away, about leaving the coffee shop and running. But something about the way Stiles' fingers felt against his skin -- human-cold and rough from where he bit his nails -- stopped him. Kept him in his seat.

"I tracked you through Oregon and Washington. I kept tabs on you when you were up in Canada and hiding out in the most remote places in Alaska. I have to admit," Stiles dropped his gaze to their hands, to where he was actually skimming the tips of his fingers over Derek's wrist now, "that I expected you to end up in New York. Not here."

Derek looked out the window, saw the perfect view of Pike's Peak. "New York was Laura's spot. I couldn't… Going back there would have been a mistake. Colorado is--" He stopped speaking abruptly. He couldn't tell this Stiles, the Stiles with the battle-weary eyes, that Colorado was a place of forgetting.

He could lose himself in the mountain passes and hide away from humanity as long as he wished. He could slip out of his itchy human skin and live for weeks at a time as a wolf. Or he could come down off the mountain, just another tourist exclaiming over the pristine air, the hidden beauty that was the Garden of the Gods. He could blend in, hide among the crowds and still have room to breathe.

"Yeah," Stiles said, like he'd heard everything Derek hadn't been able to put words to. With a shift of shoulders gone lean and broad, Stiles' fingers slipped away, dropped off the table again. His eyes flicked to the window once, twice.

Derek felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He tensed, ready to spring to his feet, to _run_ again, but Stiles' shoulders eased and a faint smile came over his face. 

"It's fine," he murmured, too low for any ears but Derek's, especially with the barista busy steaming foam for a latte. He picked his cup up, took a drink. For a heady few seconds,the length of his throat was bared to Derek's gaze. When he'd tipped the last dregs of the coffee into his mouth, he lowered the cup, looking directly at Derek with that far-seeing gaze again. "Walk with me?"

Derek stared back, the urge to flee still there. "I'm not going back." The words rushed up from his gut, more painful than the sense memory of a stomach full of wolfsbane-laced lead.

"I'm not asking you to." Without waiting for an answer, Stiles stood up, all controlled energy. He cleared away his cup and napkin, stepped to the counter to drop a dollar in the tip jar, and caught the eye of the barista. 

The look they shared was long, intense. Until the girl dropped her gaze, hands shaking enough to spill a bit of hot coffee on her skin. She kept her gaze down as Stiles turned and walked out the door, fear and respect heavy, cloying notes in her scent.

"Her Alpha won't like that she submitted to you," Derek said when he caught up with Stiles outside.

"I've met her Alpha. We have an agreement." The tone was bland for such a bold statement. 

Derek remembered _his_ meeting with the local Alpha. It had been… tense.

"The girl will be fine, Derek. Her Alpha won't punish her for following her instincts." 

They walked along in silence, past busy shops and quiet restaurants. Derek watched the way the people on the sidewalk parted for them.

For Stiles.

"They think you're dangerous." Derek flushed when his voice reached his ears, realizing he'd said that out loud. But when he darted a glance at Stiles, he saw a small smile curving his lips again, that scar pulling his wide mouth slightly crooked.

"What do you think?"

"I think there's a difference between surviving death and becoming it." Derek stopped two paces beyond where Stiles had, turning with a question already on his lips. It died when he saw the way Stiles' eyes glittered with a thin sheen of tears.

The moisture in Stiles' eyes could easily be attributed to the brisk wind that always blew down off the mountains, but somehow… Derek didn't believe that. 

"Stiles?"

"We didn't all survive."

Derek swallowed his first three responses, let the breeze carry Stiles' words away. Finally, he stepped forward, reaching for Stiles, letting himself feel the breadth of those shoulders as he wrapped his arms around them. "I know," he whispered, and felt Stiles sag against him, just for a moment. Just long enough to rest.

"We turned it off," Stiles muttered, his face pressed to Derek's neck as he drew a series of shuddering breaths. "It took… too much. But we turned it off."

 _The Nemeton._

Derek's arms tightened involuntarily, but Stiles' hand smoothed down his back easily, like he wasn't a heartbeat from being crushed.

"Is that why you're here?" he finally asked when he could speak again, when the words weren't clogging his throat, choking him.

"No. I left… after. Because I _could._ " Stiles backed away, looking around like he was daring anyone to notice the moment they'd shared. His vulnerability.

"Stiles." Derek waited until those too-dark eyes were steady on his again. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are." Then, Stiles dropped his gaze, his jaw tightening. "Because you won't go back."

"I can't," Derek whispered, the words snatched off his lips by a gust of wind. Lightning crackled in the sky, drawing his attention to the thunderstorm building up on the backside of the mountains, waiting to burst over the peaks and drench the brown land below.

"I know." 

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it. Of everyone on earth, Stiles knew the nightmares that tormented Derek. How badly the memories cut.

"You got out," Stiles said, the words too rich, too deep. Like he'd been choking on the emotion lacing them. "I held onto that, when it was bad. _You got out._ "

Derek's breath left him in a rush as realization set in. Stiles wasn't battle-hardened. He was _broken_. And like all broken things, he only had two options: be thrown away or be put back together.

Stiles had come to Colorado in search of someone who could mend his broken pieces.

No. 

He'd come to _Derek._

Against all odds, a warmth spread through Derek. It felt like trust. 

Like _hope._

Derek stretched out his hand and waited. After an eternity, Stiles grabbed for it, threading his fingers -- one, two, three, four, five -- through Derek's and hanging on tight.

"It's going to rain soon," Derek said. "Let's get you home."

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp follow-up ficlet can be found [here on my tumblr.](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com/post/139864735303/flash-fic-33-cut-out-the-lies)


End file.
